


BAD TOUCH

by MorphoFan



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Non-Consensual Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9411860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorphoFan/pseuds/MorphoFan
Summary: Junkrat annoys Reaper one time too many, and the mercenary decides to teach the youngster a lesson about unwanted physical contact. An Overwatch fanfic. Not really slash, but very close friendship between Junkrat and Roadhog.





	

Jamison woke up with a start, blinking in confusion. He vaguely remembered the mission from the day before. It had gone well, and afterwards, the team had come together for a quick debriefing.

He chuckled. He'd messed with Reaper. He was always messing with Reaper. He knew he was putting himself in grave danger every time he tormented the masked killing machine, but then Junkrat never was one for good decisions....

If he wasn't grabbing the hooded mercenary's ass, he was messing with the mask. Yesterday had been the latter.

He'd crept up behind the older man and playfully snatched the mask from his face. Gabe had NOT been amused, but the looks of horror on the faces of the rest of the team made the prank worth the risk. 

If there was one thing Junkrat lived for, other than blowing shit up, it was shocking people.

"FAWKES, GIVE THAT BACK!" Gabe had bellowed, shaking the windows with his rage.

Junkrat had danced teasingly away, cackling, and putting the mask on his own face. He'd managed to dodge Gabe's attempts to grab him. And then Roadhog had ruined his fun by lifting him up by his straps, plucking the mask off his face, and handing it back to the enraged Reaper.

"People wear masks for a reason, you idiot," his bodyguard had rumbled, scolding, "I told you last time, that's not cool."

"Third time this WEEK!" Gabe muttered angrily as he slipped his mask back over his dark features, "Get control over that little FREAK, Hog, or I'll take things into my own hands!"

"He's sorry," Roadhog had said, shaking Junkrat a bit in his huge hand, "Aren't you, Jamison?"

"Yeah, sure, whatevs." 

Then the group had dispersed, and Junkrat had gone to look for unexploded grenades or other such swag he could recycle. He'd seen Roadhog and Reaper talking a short distance away, but figured they were just giving each other mask-related emotional support.

"Whiny old bugger," Jamison had muttered. He wandered along the deserted streets, looking for more salvageable items. 

As he passed by a darkened doorway into a partially-bombed house, a strong hand suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him backwards into the shadows.

"ROADIE!" he yelped in panic, as a thick arm locked itself around his neck. The arm applied pressure, and Jamison felt his head begin to swim as the blood supply to his brain was cut off.

"ROADIE...MAKO... HELP...!" he rasped, but the man-mountain he called his bodyguard was nowhere to be seen.

And then everything had gone dark. 

Cut to this moment, which had to be at least a day later, given the brightness outside.

"Roadie?" he said, automatically trying to pinpoint his bodyguard's location. 

There was no answer. Jamison swallowed hard, and took in his situation. He was hung from the ceiling by a chain around his wrists, in some kind of cell. Sunlight filtered in through a high window, throwing beams through the haze of dust in the air.

He gave a halfhearted tug at his wrists, but the chains holding his arms over his head were thick and securely fastened to the ceiling.

He realized, upon further examination, that his ankles were also chained together, and fastened to a ring set into the floor. He was hung so that the balls of his feet barely touched the floor, allowing him to take the tiniest bit of weight off his wrists, but not giving any real leverage.

"Roadie?" he called again, "OI! ROADIE?"

Some sodding bodyguard....

He heard heavy footsteps behind him, and tried to turn his head, but his imprisonment didn't allow it.

The source of the footsteps moved past him, and turned to face him.

"REAPER?" Jamison exclaimed, slack-jawed, "Gabe, what the bloody fuck are you playing at, mate?"

"I'm going to teach you a lesson today, Jamison Fawkes," he said, folding his arms, "And this lesson may well save your sorry life."

"Oi, yeah?" the blond man said with a sneer, "And what lesson is that?"

Reaper stepped closer, and took Junkrat's pointed chin in one large, silver-tipped hand.

"I am going to teach you about unwelcome physical contact."

Jamison looked at him blankly, furrowing his soot-stained brow.

"I am going to teach you that it can be most uncomfortable when someone touches you in a way that you do not like," Reaper said with an impatient sigh.

"Ahh, gotcha," the blond Junker said, grasping the concept.

"Jesus, you're thick," Gabe said, shaking his hooded head, and stepping back from his strung-up captive.

"Well," Junkrat said, with a gloating smile, "Whatever you're gonna do, you best get on with it, quick, 'cuz when Roadhog gets here, he's gonna DESTROY you."

The black-clad mercenary laughed, and it was the most terrifying sound Jamison had ever heard, aside from a bath being drawn for him.

"What's funny about that?" he demanded, angrily, tugging at his chained wrists.

"Roadhog isn't going to stop me," Gabe said smugly, "Because it was HE who suggested this."

Junkrat's face fell, and his lower lip protruded as he imagined Roadie... HIS Roadie, giving his blessing on this mistreatment.

"I don't believe you," he murmured, "Roadhog would NEVER give you permission to hurt me."

"I never said I was going to hurt you," the mercenary said, with a surprising gentleness in his voice, coming to stand toe-to-toe with his prisoner again.

He lifted a single silver-tipped finger to brush across Jamison's filthy cheek, and the Junker shivered.

"I said I was going to teach you a LESSON... about not touching people."

He reached for Junkrat's waist and unbuckled the strap that held his canteen, tossing it onto the floor a few feet away. He followed suit with his harness and his stash of bombs, and then his precious Rip-Tire, until Jamison's upper body was completely bare.

"Don't you dare take my trousers off, you bloody perv!" the blond man warned, as Reaper came towards him again.

"Don't flatter yourself, son."

Reaper stretched a hand toward Jamison's midsection, pausing just before his metal claws touched the skin.

"Now," he said, "This is for your own good. One of these days you're going to put your hands on someone less patient than I am, and you're going to get yourself killed."

"Yeah, well," Junkrat scoffed, "I don't think that... OI! AUGH, SHIT!!!"

Reaper traced one single claw in a feather-light, torturously-slow circle around Jamison's belly button.

"NO!" the younger man squeaked, "Nonono, not tickling... NOT TICKLING! I can't bloody fucking STANDHEEHEHEHEHEEE!"

The claw made another circle around his navel. Then Reaper placed his entire hand flat on Jamison's belly, centered over his navel, and slowly drew all five fingers inward, still maintaining the very lightest touch, his claws barely indenting the skin.

Junkrat was glad that he was hung up, now, because if he weren't he'd have collapsed to the floor. He giggled helplessly, squealing, trying to pull away from Reaper's claws as they danced softly over his sensitive flesh, as lightly as a butterfly's wings.

"Do I have your attention, now?" Reaper asked softly.

Jamison could only nod, trying to suck his stomach in away from the maddening touches. He couldn't speak, he could barely draw enough breath to laugh.

Gabe knelt in front of him next, and scuttled all ten of his claws like spider legs slowly up and down Jamison's tummy, from the waistband of his ragged trousers, up to his pectoral muscles.

"No... no... I ca--ca-can't... please... Gabe... p-pleaHEHEHEHEHEEEEse!" 

That was about the last bit of English the Aussie was able to manage, before being overcome with hysterical laughter. 

He pulled at his arms, trying to lower them, trying to protect his helpless, ticklish body from his merciless tormentor. Then he twisted, but all that did was allow Gabe easier access to new, untouched, fresh skin to tickle.

Chuckling, Reaper got to his feet and moved to stand behind his prey. He reached down and trailed his claws up and down the gaunt man's sides, then up to scratch delicately under his arms, then slipped them around to go after his tummy again, hugging him from behind.

"Unwanted touches aren't pleasant," he breathed, leaning close to Jamison's ear as the younger man writhed and shrieked, "Are they, young man?"

"N... n... NO!" the blond man squeaked.

Gabe leaned forward a bit and rested his chin on Junkrat's bony shoulder, looking down at his own hands as he traced his claws gently over the younger man's hard abdominal muscles. The muscles quivered and fluttered with the faintest touches, rippling like a river under the tanned skin.

Jamison was losing his mind, gasping for breath, his entire upper body spasming from the torture. He laid his head back against Reaper's hard shoulder, tears streaming from his eyes, trying to beg him to stop, but unable to speak through the crippling waves of laughter.

Now the claws were tracing his ribs, starting at his sternum and spreading outward, around to his back, then gliding back to repeat the motion. Then they drifted down, lower and lower, following the contours of his dancing abdominal muscles. 

They came to rest at the waistband of his trousers, and then tugged them down an inch or two. Then the claws scratched at the newly-exposed, tight skin between Junkrat's prominent hipbones.

A shrill wail was all that the Aussie could manage to wrest from his overtaxed vocal chords. He didn't have the energy to struggle anymore, he just closed his eyes, feeling as though every nerve in his body was Gabe's to manipulate.

Those hands continued moving along his lower belly, gliding outward, and until they rested on his narrow hips. A brief pause, and then those terrible, cold, steel talons scuttled and scratched over the sensitive skin covering his hipbones.

"AHHHH GOD NOOOOO!" the blond man wailed, his legs giving out.

The tickling stopped, and the Junker took advantage of the lull to breathe. He laid heavily back against Reaper's hard figure, his chest heaving, sweat and tears pouring down his face. 

The mercenary's big arms came around his midriff, not tickling, now, just holding him.

"Do you feel violated, Junkrat? Gabe's voice whispered teasingly into his ear, "Does it make you angry that I am touching you against your will?"

"Yes," the younger man choked out, almost like a sob, "This is torture... I hate it... I want you to stop."

"I understand," Gabe said, rubbing his hands gently over Jamison's reddened tummy, just soothing, not tickling.

"And I want YOU to understand, that when you steal my mask, or grab my ass, that it makes ME feel violated. It's not cute. It's not funny."

"I'm sorry," the blond man choked, "I didn't get it... I'm sorry, Gabe."

"You are a brilliant fighter, Jamison," the mercenary said, suddenly, "And I am glad to have you on the team. If it weren't for that, I would have killed you the first time you stole my mask."

"Sorry," Junkrat said again, finally getting his breath, able to lift his head and support his own weight again.

"Are we done here?" the masked man asked, coming arond to stand in front of his victim again.

"Yes sir," Jamison said meekly.

"Good," Reaper growled, and then turned to call through the door, "Roadhog? We're finished, come get him."

The huge Junker stepped into the room, crossing to Gabe and shaking his hand.

"Has he learned his lesson?" the massive Junker asked, looking from Reaper to Junkrat.

"He has," Reaper replied, with a nod, "Take him home." 

He handed Roadhog a key, gave one last salute to the sweat-soaked, trembling Junkrat, and made his exit.

Roadhog knelt at Jamison's feet and used the key to unlock the padlock that held the chains in place around his ankles. Then he stood, wrapped one arm around his partner's waist, and reached up with the other hand to free his wrists.

The moment his wrists were loose, Junkrat's legs gave out from exhaustion and Roadhog scooped him up in his huge arms, cuddling him. 

Jamison laid his head on his bodyguard's massive shoulder, and closed his eyes, twining the fingers of his left hand around the strap across Roadhog's chest.

"You let him do this to me," Jamison murmured, nearly asleep.

Roadhog shrugged.

"Reaper wanted to HURT you," he said, by way of explanation, "I managed to coax him down from disembowelment to tickling... I did you a favor."

"Thanks, Roadie," the blond Junker said faintly, "Can you take me home, now?"

The huge bodyguard gave a rough, chuffing laugh, nuzzling Junkrat's scorched hair with the snout of his mask. He turned toward the door and headed for home with his precious burden.

Junkrat was asleep before he was even out the door.

THE END


End file.
